Just Sit Back
by No Petrol Required
Summary: The dream was a mess. Eames was out being chased by madmen armed with guns. Cobb was dying. Ariadne was already gone. Arthur was left, doubting reality. With no one wielding their totems, they couldn't check if this was real or not. But it had to be a dream... right? Arthur/Eames. Whumpity whump whump, because I love the word. Possible character death. Dodgy description, sorry.


**A.N.: Hey guys! So I am here with another story for you! Inception, because I have watched it twice in the past two days. Also, I watched the Batman trilogy yesterday. Tom Hardy and Joseph Gordon Levitt are both amazing. I'm pretty sure my heart exploded at least 20 times during TDKR. Just saying. Midnight premiere, with a bunch of fellow nerds. Okay, enough rambling. On with the show!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or any of the characters associated with said movie. I wish I owned Arthur and Eames, but I don't think that's going to happen. You just have to believe though... right?**

Just Sit Back

Eames was late. Normally, this wouldn't quite alarm Arthur. Eames claimed to be… how did he always put it? "Fashionably late, as usual, darling. You think that looking this great takes no time, no effort?" But that was up above. In reality. But this- this was unfamiliar territory. This was Ariadne's design, but she was already out. This dream, this fragment of his subconscious, was starting to collapse. The Mark was militarized. It hadn't shown on the research meticulous Arthur had conducted. They had paid greatly for this slipup. Ariadne was already gone. Cobb was out there, dying. He would go out and save his friend, but the Mark's projections were using Cobb as bait. As soon as the Point Man stepped foot out of the warehouse to save Dom Cobb's ass, he would be shot. Or blown up. Or both, possibly.

Eames had decided he would try to distract some of the projections. "Lead them on a merry chase." Howling at the top of his lungs, Eames had taken off sprinting, shooting along the way. The projections tore off after him, returning fire. Arthur had watched the Forger's image grow smaller and smaller until he finally disappeared into the mist that had begun to settle.

Pacing the inside of the warehouse, Arthur decided to check his watch. He had 20 minutes left in the dream before Ariadne would give them the kick. He prayed that Eames, that bastard, would be back by then. With a long sigh Arthur sat down on a wooden crate. He fished into his pocket for his totem: the loaded die. Only he knew the weight, the balance that it held. It helped him detect what was reality and what wasn't. But pretty quickly, Arthur noticed something was wrong. His totem was gone. He fumbled to turn his pockets inside out. Nothing was in them besides pocket lint, his wallet, and a loose business card. But he knew this was a dream. Wasn't he just lying in the warehouse, under the effects of some of Yusuf's sedative?

Running for the door, Arthur yelled at Cobb, "Cobb! Do you have your totem?" He watched as the fatally injured man reached into his pockets. He barely stopped himself from yelling in frustration as the other man turned his pockets inside out as well.

"No, I don't! Why, don't you have yours?" Cobb called back weakly. He began coughing, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. The dangerous scarlet liquid dripped to the ground, beginning to form a small puddle around Cobb's head.

"I don't! I don't know if this is a dream or if this is reality!" Arthur tore at his slicked back black hair. "Shit! And I let Eames go out there all alone." Drawing his gun, he began to exit the warehouse. "I have to go after him, Cobb."

Cobb nodded. "Go! I'll be okay!" Contradicting his words, he groaned in agony before coughing again.

It was now or never. Arthur bolted for the alleyway he was sure didn't have any shooters hidden. Sure enough, he cleared out to the other side. He followed what he believed to be the Brit's path. Arthur wanted desperately to call out, but he knew that would just endanger the two of them. His feet hit the pavement in a steady pattern, keeping pace with little trouble. In dreams, you could keep running. Soon, he began to pant. Another thing that truly made him question whether or not this was reality. After a while longer, he had to stop to catch his breath. Hands on his knees, he inhaled deeply. After he had regained some stamina, he took off again. Right as he rounded the closest corner, he heard a gunshot and the unmistakable cry of pain from his beloved Eames.

Feeling pumped with adrenaline, Arthur sprinted faster than he ever had before. He followed the horrid sounds of the Forger as he yelled, "Arthur! Dammit, darling, this hurts!"

"I'm coming, Eames! Don't move!" Arthur screamed, running faster yet. As he rounded the next corner, he saw him. The love of his life on the ground, bleeding heavily from his abdomen. "Eames, dammit!"

"I'm sorry, pet. This didn't turn out like I planned," Eames croaked, grinning like the bloody idiot that he was. He gasped, closing his eyes and wincing.

Arthur knelt by his side. "Dammit, Mr. Eames. Why do you have to do this to me? You tell me that you love me, that you'll be okay. And then you go and get yourself shot." Tears gathered in his chocolate brown eyes. "Don't you know how much I love you? Don't you know that I won't be able to go on without you?"

Eames looked puzzled. "This is just a dream, isn't it?" he asked quietly. He reached into his pocket, searching for HIS totem. His poker chip that had Mombasa spelled wrong on it. As soon as he began to struggle, Arthur knew. He didn't have his totem, either.

"Eames, shh. Don't worry about it. You're going to be okay. I promise. We're going to wake up in the warehouse, and we are going to be fine. This is just a dream." As the last word escaped his lips, Arthur began to cry. Silent tears streaked down his face.

Eames noticed the incriminating crystalline trails down Arthur's cheeks. "Damn. So this is it, eh? This was my last stand?"

"I guess so," Arthur whispered, his voice breaking. He began to sob, burying his face in Eames' chest. "I love you so fucking much Eames. I don't even think you can fathom the amount of compassion, the amount of dedication I hold for you. You are-"

"Shut up and kiss me."

Arthur, shocked, looked up. His eyes, filled with tears, met Eames' blue eyes. Those pools of Caribbean blue held so much passion, but also held so much agony. This was it. This was the time to make everything count. Years of sexual tension, of petty arguments, of harsh words exchanged, melted away as their lips met. They were two magnets, polar opposites designed to meet and lock with each other. They were puzzle pieces, manufactured to fit the other just right. Tears still fell from Arthur's eyes as they kissed, mingling in with their combined taste of one another. Eames, tasting like blood, like regret in the shadows. Arthur, tasting like guilt. Guilt for holding out on the man for so long, even though they both held feelings for one another. Regret for not revealing those feelings towards each other long before this moment. The first time they had worked together, they knew. They knew that they were meant for each other. They just didn't want to acknowledge that fact. And now- they couldn't age together gracefully. They couldn't live together happily ever after.

Eames pulled away, gasping. "I love you, so much, pet. Never forget that."

Arthur, keening, pulled himself together. His composure held just long enough for him to say, "Go to sleep, Mr. Eames. I'll be here when you wake up."

Eames responded, "Forever?"

"Forever. I promise I'll never leave you."

Eames exhaled, closing his eyes. "Good." As the Forger became still, Arthur knew. His love, his one, his only… Eames was gone.

"I love you too, Eames. I didn't tell you enough. And now it's too late." Arthur reached for his gun. Staring at the face that was once the perfect Eames, he aimed for his temple. He could see those azure blue eyes, gazing lovingly at him. Those perfect, lush lips, whispering his name softly. Those arms, wrapping around his torso in the middle of the night. But those days were over. Without Eames, he was nothing. "I love you," the brokenhearted man whispered before pulling the trigger.

Boom.


End file.
